Читать книгу The Two Twilights - Henry A. Beers - Страница 10

Ancient city, down thy street

Minstrels make their music sweet;

Sound of bells is on the air,

Fountains sing in every square,

Where, from dawn to shut of day,

Maidens walk and children play;

And at night, when all are gone,

The waters in the dark sing on,

Till the moonrise and the breeze

Whiten the horse-chestnut trees.

Cool thou liest, leisured, slow,

On the plains of long ago,

All unvexed of fretful trades

Through thy rich and dim arcades,

Overlooking lands below

Terraced to thy green plateau.

Dear old city, it is long

Since I heard thy minstrels' song,

Since I heard thy church-bells deep,

Since I watched thy fountains leap.

Yet, whichever way I turn,

Still I see the sunset burn

At the ending of the street,

Where the chestnut branches meet;

Where, between the gay bazaars,

Maidens walk with eyes like stars,

And the slippered merchants go

On the pavements to and fro.

Upland winds blow through my sleep,

Moonrise glimmers, waters leap,

Till, awaking, thou dost seem

Like a city of a dream, —

Like a city of the air,

Builded high, aloof and fair, —

Such as childhood used to know

On the plains of long ago.